The Last Dragon
by crimsonkatana
Summary: After the death of his son an aged Zuko is forced to take up the mantle of Fire Lord once more. But with the world on the edge of chaos, can the banished prince save it from destruction?


_**Chapter 1-The Golden Crown**_

"Down with the Fire Lord! Down with the oppressor!" The crowds chanted.

Thousands of people filled the massive plaza outside the Royal Palace, men, women, adolescents, all of them shouting, all of them angry. At the focus of their anger, standing stoically at his podium, was a man in his mid twenties dressed in luxurious crimson robes with the golden crown of the Fire Nation resting neatly in his hair. His mouth moved as if to speak, but whatever he had to say was lost in the uproar of the crowd.

"No more injustice!" cried a disheveled woman.

"No more forced conscription!" shouted a man.

"We're starving!" shouted another.

"Too long have we suffered at the hands of this tyrant! Down with the monarchy! Down with the Fire Lord!" The sentence echoed throughout the plaza as the milling thousands roared in agreement.

"**Down with the Fire Lord! Down with the tyrant!"**

Now the noises of the crowd took on a more threatening tone. The faces of the public became darkened with fanaticism as slowly the minds of individuals became one. This new hive mind was primitive in its notions and had only one thing on its agenda–blood.

"Down with the Fire Lord! Down with the murderer!" Their chant now sounded like a battle cry as slowly the crowds began to converge on the podium. The Royal Procession, formerly at attention, raised their arms and assumed a battle stance, momentarily halting the crowds and temporarily breaking their mob mentality. All of the rioters still remembered the massacres of the Moon Day Protests and their primitive rage was displaced by fear–but not for long.

One of the Fire Lord's attendants hurried to the podium with a microphone, the wire trailing behind. He bowed before the still stoic leader who gracefully accepted the device and returned his gaze to the chanting protesters. Closing his eyes, the Fire Lord gathered his thoughts before switching on the microphone. Despite the commotion around him he spoke loud and clear.

"My fellow countrymen," At the sound of his voice echoing through the plaza the crowds fell silent. "I have come here before you to hear out your grievances. To listen, as a true ruler must. As a Fire Lord must." He looked searchingly through the crowd, "I know these past few months have been difficult for us. That we have suffered great losses both as individuals and as a nation…"

While the Fire Lord appealed to the masses, far away on the top floor of a deserted building a cloaked figure labored in darkness. Its hands moving deftly, it knowingly assembled a device piece by piece, fitting a long metal barrel into a heavy stock, twisting it into place, before mounting the compound onto a stand. The figure glanced furtively at the plaza, its eyes narrowing on the podium that was barely a speck at this distance. Slowly it reached into its case and pulled out the most expensive piece–the scope. This instrument was priceless, custom made, very hard to come by and still harder to use. Less than a hundred were even in existence.

The figure snapped the scope gently into place at the top of the construct, adjusting it carefully before letting go. Now all that remained was the final piece, the detail that gave this entire device a purpose. Reaching into its cloak the figure pulled out the bullet.

"I know that I have failed you." The Fire Lord announced gravely, "And for that I am truly sorry. But I believe that we can rebuild. I believe that we can right the wrongs of our past and restore this nation to its former glory. All I ask is that you stand beside me now and believe in me as I believe in our country. Trust in me as your leader and I will not let you d–"

The final word was drowned by a sound like distant thunder and before the crowd could comprehend what had happened the Fire Lord's lifeless body fell to the ground. The crimson robes now dark with blood.

* * *

Dark as blood the ink stood tranquilly in its pot. The calligraphy brush lay next to it, the tip still dripping. Tiny splatters of ink fell on the cold hard ground, breaking the almost ancient silence of the temple. It was early in the afternoon, the sun was out, and yet inside the temple walls everything was dark. The windows of the building were covered with thick screens so that no natural light entered its inner sanctum. Small, dim candles were the only source of illumination in the temple and the fresh air of the outside world was transformed into an aromatic blend of spirituality and harmony by slow burning sticks of incense. This was the remote monastery of the reclusive Serpent Island monks. Their temple and island were on the very edge of the Fire Nation, beyond the effective control of the Fire Sages–who dominated all other sects–and in practice beyond the rule of even the Capital. For centuries the monks here had been given free reign and so it came as quite a shock when in the early hours of the afternoon a squadron of four Fire Nation cruisers lay anchor in the island's tiny harbor and a company of soldiers disembarked outside the temple grounds.

Picking up the ink brush, a grey haired monk made a series of quick and eloquent strokes on the parchment before holding up the scroll and examining it carefully. The monk pursed his lips. His last stroke had been too bold; the rich red ink had come out uneven once again. Ten years of practice and dedication and he still made amateur mistakes. The monk felt his fist tighten around the parchment, its edges gradually beginning to smolder and catch fire. It was at that moment that the doors to the temple flew open and a cadre of Fire Nation soldiers marched in. Their bright red armor and many horned helmets identified them as members of the Royal Procession and as they came to a halt inside the temple's inner sanctum, the monks who had hitherto been diligently practicing their calligraphy raised their heads in alarm.

One of the monks, an elderly man and the head abbot, rose and bowed to the soldiers, "Can I help you?" He asked.

The leader of the soldiers returned his bow curtly and replied, "We've come here on official Fire Nation matters. The country is in a state of emergency and we've come to ask–"

"You can save your breath. I'm not going with you." The grey haired monk tossed the now burnt out parchment to the ground before taking a fresh scroll and dipping his brush. "Whatever it is, it's not my problem anymore."

The soldier stared at the man in amazement as if he hadn't heard him right, but the monk returned to his calligraphy, moving his brush as diligently as ever. The other monks merely looked on, confused by what was happening. As the grey haired monk finished the character he put down his brush once more and lifted the scroll, examining it meticulously. Then, as if remembering the soldiers, he turned his head in their direction, his scarred left eye watching them with annoyance.

"Well? What are you still doing here? I told you I'm not going back."

"But-but your majesty–"

"Don't call me that!" the monk bellowed, seeing the alarm on the other monks' faces he closed his eyes and willed himself to be calm. "I'm not the Fire Lord. Not anymore."

His eyes glanced down at the scroll and he saw that he had messed up again. The final line had come out crooked. Sighing, he put down the parchment and set the ink brush aside.

"It's urgent," the soldier continued. "Your son, Fire Lord Rokuro, is dead."

Zuko's eyes widened, his hands clenched into fists. "How?" he muttered, barely speaking.

"Assassinated."

Zuko shook his head, the realization gradually sinking in. His son–his only son and heir was dead.

Mistakenly taking the gesture to mean acceptance, the soldier continued, "Your majesty, it is imperative that you return to the Capital immediately. If you will accompany us, we have a ship that will take you to the palace with all haste."

"I'm not going." Zuko said bitterly. He would mourn his son, burn incense, pray for his spirit, but he would never return, not after everything that had happened. Life in the temple was lonely and dull, but at least here he was at peace. Here he was safe from the never-ending schemes and plots and political machinations. Here he was safe from betrayal…

"Your majesty please." the soldier pleaded, "The capital is rioting, the whole country is in chaos. We need you back."

"So what?" Zuko replied apathetically, "Ask the avatar to help. Maintaining world peace is his job not mine.

The soldiers exchanged confused looks until their leader finally spoke up, "The avatar is dead, your majesty. He died earlier this year."

At that Zuko felt his heart skip a beat and he clutched his chest, his face bewildered. Dead and he hadn't even known. For almost ten years he hadn't seen Aang and now he was dead. Him and his son. Zuko felt his legs grow weak and he grasped for something to steady himself.

"Brother Zuko," one of the other monks helped him to a seat and another rushed to bring him some water.

Zuko drank it slowly, his hands shaking terribly. If all that were true then the Fire Nation could very well crumble into chaos. With his son dead and the Avatar too, there was no one to save it. No one but him. But Zuko couldn't go back there, he couldn't. Not after everything that had happened. Not after his son had betrayed him.

"Your majesty, I beg you." The soldier fell to his knees, his comrades following suit. "This nation needs you now more than ever. You're the only one who can restore order to our land. We beg you to return."

"I…I can't." Zuko muttered, his eyes now weary and full of anguish. "I just can't."

"Brother Zuko." The head abbot said suddenly in his calm and all knowing voice. "For ten years you have lived with us here in the temple. You've trained diligently in the arts and in our way of life, but I suspect you have come to realize that, despite your efforts, you have not made any progress. While in your mind you believe that your destiny lies here, in your heart and soul you know it does not. You yearn to return to the Capital, to wear the golden crown once more. It's what you were born to do and no matter how you might try to bury this desire within yourself it will always shine through to the surface. You **are** the Fire Lord, there's no use denying it, so go now, embrace your destiny. It's time to let go of the past."

Zuko nodded his head; he could no longer escape it. He owed a duty to his country and to his people, and no matter what his personal feelings were he had to fulfill it. Even so, as the Fire Nation cruisers cast off from the island Zuko couldn't help but feel afraid.

* * *

The Royal Palace was exactly as Zuko remembered it. From the bright red carpets and tapestries down to the furniture, everything was exactly the way he left it ten years ago and yet Zuko felt out of place amidst all the opulence. He had changed. The once familiar surroundings felt alien to him now. He longed for the simplicity of the temple and the quiet life of exile, but he knew there was no turning back now.

"Your majesty." A voice brought him out of his musings. Following its sound he saw a grey haired man with a youthful face and kind looking eyes bow deeply, "It's an honor to welcome you back."

"Masato?" Zuko said in shock. He scarcely recognized his old friend.

The man smiled in response, "You sound surprised Zuko, don't tell me your vision is going with age."

"Going with age?" Zuko smirked, "You're the one who looks like an old man."

Masato laughed. "Touché."

"Where is everyone?" Zuko asked. Aside from his escort and a handful of guards and servants the palace was entirely deserted.

"Gone, run away I presume." Masato shook his head, "It's been hell here these past few weeks. A few officials ran way when the riots first began. As for the rest, when they heard that you were returning to the Capital they figured it was better to disappear then face your wrath."

"I have no interest in petty revenge."

"More's the pity. After all they betrayed you. Stabbed you in the back and forced you out of power. They even turned your own son against you. Anyone else would only dream of vengeance. "

"All that's in the past." Zuko said firmly, "I'm too old and too tired to worry about getting even now. Besides, we have more pressing matters to deal with."

Masato nodded his head, "I suppose you're right. The gaps in administration will have to be filled and there are many issues that require your immediate attention. Aside from food and water shortages there's also widespread unrest amid the civilian population and even certain military units have begun to mutiny. Furthermore unless we resolve our pressing government debts–"

"Tomorrow." Zuko said wearily, the voyage had been long and he had spent most of it dreading his return. The thought of facing this onslaught of problems all at once was too much to handle right now. He needed time to adjust.

"Of course, your majesty." Masato saw now just how tired his friend truly was. Not just physically, but mentally as well. The years really had taken their toll and he wondered if Zuko was really up to the task of running the Fire Nation, especially in its current condition. Riots and food shortages were but the tip of the iceberg. There were far graver problems on the horizon.

A sudden noise startled them both–a gasp that sounded distinctly feminine. As they both turned to face the source they saw a young woman standing at the edge of the hall, her eyes slowly filling with tears. "Father…" she whispered, her voice trembling. Zuko recognized her instantly.

"Kazumi." He began to walk towards her, smiling for the first time since he'd gotten here.

"No." she shook her head, as if refusing to believe it. The tears now ran down her face and began to fall to the ground.

"Kazumi I'm–"

"No!" she screamed, her voice breaking. "I don't want to hear your excuses! You abandoned me."

Zuko stopped in his tracks. He hadn't expected the anger and the look in her eyes felt like a knife in his soul. The smile that had warmed him for the first time in years faded away into darkness.

"I had no choice." He began, "Kazumi I never meant to hurt you. You're my daughter and I love you. I left for you own protection. If I had stayed–"

"You're a liar!" She cried, backing away. "You've always been a liar. You never loved me or Rokuro. All you ever cared about was being Fire Lord."

"That's not true." Zuko said, "I loved you both, but the country needed me."

"It's always the same excuses with you." Kazumi said with a sneer, wiping the tears from her eyes. "When mom left, is that what you told yourself, 'the country needed me'?"

At that Zuko was at a loss for words. He lowered his eyes.

"Yeah, I thought so."Kazumi scoffed, "I bet when you were on that island you kept wondering why Rokuro betrayed you. And I bet you never blamed yourself." Before Zuko could say another word she turned on her heels and disappeared into the depths of the palace.

For a while he stood there in shock. The sight of the pained and hateful look in Kazumi's eyes had destroyed him. She was all that remained of his family and she hated him. But he couldn't blame her, what she said was true. He had sacrificed his relationship with his family for his duty. It had been a hard choice, a painful one, and he hated himself for it.

"She'll come around." Masato said with a sigh, "Beneath all that anger she still loves you deeply. It's not easy losing a mother and a father. I'm sure you know that better than anyone else."

"She's right you know." Zuko said with a tint of sadness. "I did put the needs of the country ahead of those of my family."

"Being the Fire Lord is a difficult task, Zuko. You did what you had to and deep down Kazumi understands." Zuko nodded his head absentmindedly. Masato walked over and clapped his old friend on the shoulder, "Come, you look like you could use a drink. I bet ten years of living on nothing but rice and water have made you miss the royal wine cellar. We've a few casks of Fire Fountain Sake aged five years, and two very good barrels of Sozin's Elite. What do you say, for old times' sake?"

"Thank you Masato, but I'm not in the mood to drink." Zuko's eyes still lingered on the place where Kazumi had stood.

Masato sighed, audibly disappointed, "As you wish, your majesty. Your chambers are ready if you wish to retire."

"Not yet," Zuko said, stroking his long beard. "Have a barber sent up and some fresh robes."

"Of course, your majesty."

…

When the barber at last finished his work, Zuko rose from his seat and walked over to a large mirror at the edge of his chamber. His face was now clean shaven and his hair short–the way it had been when he first took the throne. In the dim lighting his graying hair was scarcely noticeable and he looked a solid twenty years younger–the way he had when his reign had reached its zenith. Back then everything had been so much better. The United Republic had just been established, the nations were all at peace, and an age of prosperity had dawned on the world. His son had just been born and he and his wife were so happy and so very much in love. How quickly things took a turn for the worse.

Narrowing his eyes, Zuko gazed at the scar that marred his left side. After all these years that alone had remained unchanged. A souvenir from his father–the one he had helped overthrow. And then his son had overthrown him. Fate had a cruel sense of humor.

Lowering his gaze he saw the Fire Lord's crown resting on its pillow. For centuries his ancestors had worn this symbol of authority proudly above their heads and once he had worn it proudly too. Now, it only felt like a burden. A constant reminder of all the things he'd lost– friends, family, loved ones–and all the sacrifices he had made just to retain that golden crown.

With one swift motion he tied his hair into a top knot and slid the headgear into place. All worries and concerns vanished instantly and his face took on a grave and dignified tone. He was Fire Lord now, ruler of the Fire Nation, and he would do everything in his power to save his country, no matter the cost.

* * *

**_Author's Note: Please, please let me know what you think and review! Your feedback means a lot to me and lets me know whether I should continue with the story. Thanks for reading!_**


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